Mandated
by Anderida
Summary: Cas gets Dean into trouble. Dean takes the rap. Drunk Dean confides in Mal. Destiel. Caution: Dean has a foul mouth when he's drunk.
1. Chapter 1

**Mandated – Chapter 1**

Author's Note:

Cas gets Dean into trouble. Dean takes the rap. Drunk Dean confides in Mal. Destiel (mostly implied). **Caution:** Dean has a foul mouth when he's drunk.

This fic is atonement for my crimes against Cas in my fic, "_Grumpy_". Mea culpa. But so help me, I'm unrepentant and may do it again!

Disclaimer: This story is mine: _Supernatural_ isn't. Mal is mine: Dean isn't, dammit!

"Here!" Dean said to the man seated the other side of the desk, not even doing him the courtesy of looking at him directly, as he thrust his hand forward with the tattered pink slip held between thumb and forefinger as if it was infectious.

"Your first time?" the man asked kindly.

"Um, yeah," Dean tried to sound nonchalant but he thought even Cas would hear the embarrassment clouding his voice.

"It's ok, it can be a bit scary, a bit uncomfortable at first but …"

"Ha! I do scary, bring it on!" Dean said, not very convincingly.

He looked at the man properly then. He was a little older than Dean, dark unruly hair, soft blue eyes, an open face – whatever that was. The man reminded him of Cas in some ways. Had that inquisitive, but sympathetic look about him too.

"What I mean is that it can be unnerving for first timers but it's ok to be a bit scared." The man smiled. He seemed genuine; his smile reached his eyes so whilst Dean still wouldn't buy anything this guy was selling, he could relax a little.

But first to business.

"You have to sign this," Dean demanded, waving the little piece of pink paper in front of the other's nose.

"That's not how it works, Mr um … Have you chosen a pseudonym?"

"How many would you like?" Dean smirked his smirk.

"I'm sorry?"

"Skip it," Dean said dismissively, "Steven, er, Steve, Steve Tyler."

"Oh, ok, Steve, I'd have pegged you more as a Joey Kramer but …" then, noticing Dean's discomfort, "It's fine, any name, from Aerosmith or your imagination, it's all good. You'd be surprised how many 'Harry Potters' we get, quite a few 'Hermiones' too."

"Whatever floats their boat," Dean mumbled, shifting his weight, eager to move on, "Just sign this?"

"Ok, Steve," the man said affably, "it doesn't work like that. You spend some time with us this evening. You participate, or you don't, but you _do_ stay. Until the end. Then I sign your release form."

"If you sign it now, I can save you the trouble of all the, … well, whatever it is you do."

"Ok, I know you're not here because you want to be here but …"

"Mandated. That's what they said, 'mandated'. Whatever the fuck that means. But without your scrawl on my slip I don't get my Baby back and I don't get to listen to my Aerosmith tapes again. So sign away and I'll be outta your hair," Dean's eyes flicked up from the paper to the man's shaggy locks, "before you can say 'Dream On'."

"Well, no, actually Steve, I'm gonna say, 'Dream On'. You stay, I sign. In that order. Or you go now and learn to live without your, uh, 'Baby' and without Aerosmith."

The man was still smiling and Dean couldn't decide if that was a good thing. It shouldn't be because it looked like the next three and a half hours were going to hell in a damn tedious hand basket.

"Look, Steve, I get this is difficult for you," the man was looking earnestly into Dean's eyes, "but just go along with it. See if you can get something out of this rather than just let your fear get in the way."

"Buddy," Dean hissed, "you know jack ..."

"Mal. Call me Mal, for Malcolm. And, yes, that's my real name."

"Ok, Mal," Dean stressed the man's name venomously, "you know nothing about me. I handle fear just fine, and this is so far from 'fear' as to be laughable. But do I want to waste the next four hours of my life here? The fuck I do! You might not have anything better to do with your time, Mal, but I sure as fuck have."

"What?"

"'Scuse me?"

"If you weren't here, what would you be doing?" Mal asked gently, still smiling.

And shouldn't that be a smug smile, Dean thought to himself, that self-satisfied, holier-than-thou smile that do-gooders must practise in front of a mirror. Like Cas. Yeah, Mal _did_ remind him of Cas. So where was Mal's self-righteous smug?

"Steve?"

Dean realised he'd missed a beat here. Damn Cas. This was all his fault.

"Um, sorry, Mal, what?"

"What would you be doing now, if you weren't here zoning out?"

"Um, well, you know, I'd be in some bar, drinking, picking up some hot chick, going back to the motel with her …"

"You're not local?"

"No, just passing through," Dean shrugged.

Mal studied him for a moment. "Then how come you were mandated here?"

"Sorry?"

"These evenings are for people who live here in town. Out-of-towners get a night in the cells and a fine that sometimes outstrips the value of their vehicle. So. How d'you get to be standing in front of me waving your mandate release slip?"

"Good luck, maybe?" Dean smiled in what he hoped would be a winning way, cursing himself for falling into Mal's trap. It was a trap, wasn't it? Because no-one would be interested in how Dean was going to spend his evening. Hell, even the chicks he flirted with weren't that interested. Actually, even Dean wasn't that engaged when it came right down to it.

"Wanna try that again? Are you covering for a friend?"

Ok, so the guy thought he was taking the rap for someone else. Well, yeah, he was. But if he admitted that, what were the chances of him getting Babe back tonight? As it was, he'd only have half an hour at the end of the session tonight to get over to the Pound, do the paperwork and get her released.

"Nah, guess it was all my fault," Dean admitted, which it was if you meant that he was the brainless idiot that gave Cas the keys. Surely, they learnt to drive in Heaven?

"You sure?" Mal asked quietly, "The truth?"

"Mal, I can honestly say, may Heaven be my judge, that it was all down to me." Yeah, that covered it nicely.

"Well, ok," Mal seemed genuinely pleased, "so, you're not a local but …"

Oh crap! Only local's get this 'mandated' option. Think, Dean, think!

"DMV still got my old address. The cop cut me some slack, me being a former resident, and I'm also in law enforcement so kinda professional courtesy."

"O – kay."

Dean couldn't tell if Mal believed him on not. If he had to bet, he'd go with 'not'.

Mal's smile widened. "Don't worry, Steve, your secret's safe with me. Pleased you could join us tonight. Ok, look, sign the log here …"

He turned the clipboard in front of him round to face Dean. The page on it was empty of anything but lined columns and typewritten column headings.

"No one else here yet?" Dean asked as he scribbled his signature; an unreadable squiggle that he habitually signed when using any alias.

"The first and possibly the last," Mal said has he got up from his chair. "Tuesdays are always quiet. And the sting at the end of Main Street only runs from 4pm until 7. The City runs it primarily because we had a few nasty crashes involving business men on their way home from Happy Hour. So we run these awareness sessions to start from 7:15, it's nearly that now, and I get a call when they're sending someone over, so, yeah, that's it for the night. It's just you and me then, Steve."

"Well. I'm sure, you have something better to be doing with your evening, even if I don't, so I won't expect you to run this, um, whatever, just for me. We can just call it a day now." Dean smiled his very sweetest smile, the one he usually reserved for one of those cute girls that couldn't see beyond it.

"Like I explained," Mal said firmly, "it doesn't work like that, Steve."

"Aw, who's to know, Mal? You know your secret's safe with me!" Dean was grinning confidently.

"I'd know, Steve. And if you left here and I heard that you'd wrapped your car round a tree tomorrow, how'd you think I'd feel?"

"It wouldn't happen. And if it did, I'd be just another drunk loser. You don't know me, Mal, why would you care?"

"You might take an innocent pedestrian with you," Mal said evenly, "and all human life is precious, drunker losers included. But I don't think you're one of those, are you, Steve?"

"I might be. But like I say, Mal, you don't know me."

"Maybe not, but I have all evening to rectify that. C'mon, let's go through into the lecture hall."

Mal, indicated double doors to his left, smiling, then turned and walked towards them.

"Mal, this is ridiculous," Dean complained. "I can come back another day, save you going through all this again."

"But you're just passing through, Steve," Mal reminded him, holding open one of the double doors.

"Dammit!" Dean muttered, as he strode across the ante-room and through the doors.

As he passed him, Mal said, "I'm sorry, Steve, but we'll finish up early."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean grumbled.

The lecture hall was small – tiny actually. It was on the small side for a regular class room, and the screen at the business end would hardly pass muster as a TV in most homes these days. There were maybe two dozen stackable chairs arranged in a vague semicircle facing the screen and, rather incongruously, an upright piano sat in a corner to the front.

"Don't suppose you got any of the Transporter films on DVD?" Dean asked, ever hopeful.

"At home, yeah," Mal said, smiling broadly, "but here, sadly, no."

"You couldn't download one off the internet?"

"You really don't give up, do you?" Mal asked after stifling a chuckle.

"Nope, not my way," Dean said trying to get comfortable on the cheap chair.

There was silence for a while as Mal fiddled with a laptop and Dean did his usual, 'where are the exits, threats, potential weapons?' risk assessment, whilst appearing completely oblivious to his surroundings.

"Before we start," Mal said suddenly, "I need you to know that I operate a strict confidentiality policy here. In this room anything and everything we discuss is absolutely confidential. No exceptions. That means that you could confess to being the Zodiac killer and I'd say nothing. To anyone, ever.

"But it works both ways, Steve. I tell you something, not about road safety obviously, but anything personal, well, that stays in this room too. You okay with that?"

"Yeah, personal stays personal, I got that."

"So, how about we start with some honesty?"

Dean snapped his attention back to Mal, who looked serious. "Honesty?" he asked suspiciously.

"The group uses assumed names to protect identities from each other. Tonight it's just you here. So how about you drop the Aerosmith persona?"

"Um, yeah, um," oh crap, what was that name he'd given the cop? It wasn't Steven Tyler because that was the one he'd picked out of the hat here, as an alias for an alias. Dammit!

"Well then, welcome," Malcolm looked down at the note he'd made when the police officer had called to tell him to expect his first 'customer', "Special Agent Hamill. Mark, is it?"

Yeah, that was it, Hamill. That was the name he'd given the cop. "Thanks," Dean mumbled.

"Oh, sorry, my mistake," Mal said grinning inanely, "I can't read my own writing. It's Luke, isn't it?"

"'Scuse me?" Dean was frantically trying to remember the mash-up on his ID. Luke, yes, is was Luke, wasn't it?"

Mal looked at him quizzically for a moment. Dean felt like squirming, which was just stupid, right, because he never squirms. No, not ever. Squirm-free zone here, pal.

"I've told you that whatever you tell me in this room stays here. I don't care that you gave the police a fake name. That's your business, and I guess you have your reasons. But while it's just you and me, I'd prefer to call you by your real name, in confidence as I said."

"Does it matter?" Dean asked, wondering why this guy should give a flying fuck what some drunk-driver was called. Half the girls he screwed couldn't remember his name. Scratch that. Probably nearer 90 percent. But then he didn't bother to remember their names 100 percent of the time.

"Yeah, it does. Imagine you're at a party. You hear someone call your name – your real one. What do you do? You turn, look around, try to see who called you. You're invested in the outcome."

"Think I'm not 'invested' in the outcome of this little waste of my time?" Dean challenged, loving the irony.

Mal laughed. "Like you ever would be invested for anything like this! Your name would be good though."

What could it harm? "Dean, name's Dean Winchester."

"Ok! Welcome, Dean. It's good to meet you." Mal was beaming at him.

"Likewise," Dean said, showing he could do 'polite' when needed. "So, how'd you know? That I wasn't Special Agent Hamill."

"I've had a couple of FBI types here before. They say nothing, watch the presentation, keep their heads down and pray to which ever god helps them through the day that their boss never finds out.

"You acted like you didn't care if your boss found out. And you thought you could get your pink slip signed and duck out. Feds and other officials, they know they can't get out of this and they don't want to do anything that might suggest they don't respect local law enforcement.

"I'll bear that in mind next time," Dean said smirking.

"I hope there won't be a next time, Dean," Mal said sincerely. "But I wasn't completely sure, so I took a chance and called you Mark. You didn't correct me."

Dean sighed, "I couldn't remember. Knew it had some Skywalker connection but, well, I've been drinking ..."

"No shit!"

Mal's expletive was unexpected but he was smiling.

"Yeah, but I'm not loaded."

"You weren't driving either, were you?" At Dean's hesitation, Mal added, "It stays here, remember. I asked what I had to ask at enrolment. Out there. You're enrolled now and we're in here. I'm just curious."

"Nah, I wasn't driving. My friend was and he was a sober as you are." Dean grimaced at the memory.

"What happened?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Mandated – Chapter 2**

Dean regarded Mal for a few moments. What was it to him, some do-gooding anti-drunk-driving nerd? Nah, bit harsh. Driving under the influence is just plain wrong and needs to be stopped. And the guy seems ok and if they're talking about epic failures in Dean's reasoning powers then they're not looking at crime scene photos of crash victims.

"I was gonna have a quiet night out …"

"Yeah, you said: alcohol, hot chick, sex," Mal laughed. "How'd that work out for you, Dean?"

"Alright, yeah, I'm a sad-ass, I get that. So, anyway, I was in this bar, and when my friend turned up, against my better judgement, I suggested he stayed."

"You wouldn't normally?"

"What, Cas? No way!" At Mal's up-cast eyebrow, Dean continued, "He doesn't drink and he's – how do I put this? – he's not very worldly-wise, I guess. He can, well, scare the girls away."

"But you invited him to join you tonight?"

"Yeah, sure, he's my friend."

So how is it that _you're_ here and he's not?"

"I told you the truth earlier; it was my fault. Cas was behind the wheel, but I let him. And if you knew how much I love my Babe, you'd know how damn out of character that is."

"You love him?"

"Him? Who?"

"Er, 'Babe'?"

Dean started laughing.

"Oh dude, that's so fucking wrong! No, she's my car, my 1967 Chevy Impala. She was dad's, then mine. I restored her myself after that Mack truck took her out. She's a thing of beauty.

"I get cranky just thinking of my _brother_ driving her and he's, well, he's my brother. But Cas? What the fuck was I thinking?"

"So Cas' driving skills aren't as good as your brother's?" Mal asked, closing his laptop.

"You kidding me? Sam, my brother, he drives like a girl. But Cas? Turns out he's a fucking virgin driver! Can you believe it? Never driven a car in his life. But did he tell me that? No, Cas forgot that little detail."

"So what happened?" Mal dragged up a chair.

"I said, we'll get a cab to the next bar. Cas says, why doesn't he drive us. The beer in me says, 'yeah, ok', 'cause my brain sure as hell didn't make that decision."

"But Cas got behind the wheel knowing he couldn't drive."

"Wasn't really Cas' fault. He knows jack about, well, life, anything, really. I should have known better, looked out for him better."

"You're not his keeper," Mal said gently.

"I kinda am really. Like I said, he's not that experienced in the ways of the world. I should have known to check he knew how to drive. It's just you don't expect someone not to know something that basic. Not when they say, 'I'll drive, Dean, it's not far'," Dean whined the last bit in a passable imitation of Cas, or at least how Cas sounded when filtered through several beers and a JD chaser. Or two.

"I'm confused, Dean, if Cas was driving, and he was sober, how did you get sent here?"

"Dumb fucking luck?" Dean replied with a moan. "Well, ok, he manages to put the car in gear and pulls out into the road. Babe is jumping all across the road into the opposite lane and, as I'm saying, 'can you even drive, dude?', I see a cop walk out to stop us.

"I, um. I didn't want Cas to get into trouble so I told him to get the hell out of there and, um, I slipped across behind the wheel. Thought I might be ok, but I wasn't."

"And your friend let you take the blame?" Mal said trying to keep the judgement out of his voice, but Dean heard it anyway.

"No. I told him to go. Like I said, it wasn't his fault."

"You're a good friend."

"Yeah, well, he'd do the same for me. He's saved my life once or twice. Of course, half the time my life only needed saving because of Cas, but … hey, he means well."

"I think he's lucky to have you as a friend."

Something in Mal's tone caused Dean to look at him curiously. "What's your angle?"

"Meaning?"

"Well, first there's all this, 'you have to stay to the end' bollocks, then you close up your laptop, and now this interest in me and Cas."

Mal chuckled, "Yeah, you got me! Out there," he pointed back to the double doors, "I'm Malcolm Hughes, the road safety bore hired by the City to slap the wrists of business men, and some women, who think they can leave work, have a few drinks and then drive home for dinner. In here, I'm usually that guy too.

"But, tonight there's just you here. And you, well, it seemed to me that your story, Special Agent Skywalker, might be more interesting than watching a presentation about traffic fatalities since the end of Prohibition. Was I wrong?"

"I'm always interesting, Mal. But if you don't intend to show me the presentation, why not call it a night?"

"Caretaker! Caretaker comes in at half past ten to start to lock up. Personally, I think the City uses him to spy on me," Mal smiled, "just in case I'm tempted to let everyone go early. They do pay me for this, you know."

"Yeah, I get that. But you'd think they'd trust you."

"Trust is in short supply these days. That's why what you did for your friend is so refreshing. Illegal, reprehensible, plain wrong. But refreshing. He trusted you not to turn him in and you trust that he'll help you out another time if you need it."

"I trusted that he could drive. Look how that ended." Dean complained, but he smiled broadly at his companion.

"Cas is a very lucky guy to have you. You must be very close."

The way Mal was looking at him suddenly made Dean feel vaguely uncomfortable.

"Hey, Mal, there's nothing like that between us. I'm not into guys, I like …"

"Hot chicks! Yeah, I know. You said. Made a point of saying."

"No. You asked about my plans for this evening. I told you."

"Maybe."

"No 'maybe' about it Mal. I dig girls, not guys. Sorry to disappoint."

Then Mal was laughing uproariously.

"Wanna share?" Dean asked, his voice not hiding his annoyance.

When Mal had caught his breath, he took a long look at Dean, giving him that squirmy feeling again.

"I'm sorry, Dean, I didn't mean to make you feel awkward, and I wasn't laughing at you then, I was laughing at me. And I'm really sorry, it was just plain rude of me."

"Forget it," Dean mumbled.

"Look, you've just been honest with me, so I'll be honest with you."

Honest, Dean thought to himself, like telling him how Cas just disappeared back to Heaven without so much as a puff of smoke, and I nearly pulled a muscle trying to take the suddenly vacant space behind the wheel and stop the damn car, hoping the cop hadn't seen Cas vanish into thin air?

"Dean, I am so thoroughly bored running this presentation I can't begin to tell you. Most evenings I get three or four uptight guys, drunk, disruptive, disrespectful who don't see they have done anything wrong and begrudge their tax-dollars funding schemes like this. And you know, Dean, I hate it; hate them.

"Then, this evening I'm pleased because it got to nearly 7 and it looked like I was going to get to go home early. But then I get the call to say they've stopped you and are sending you over to me. So I think, oh well, at least I'll get paid more than the basic tonight, and I brace myself for another idiot in a suit who thinks that if he drinks too much it's the fault of the guy who invented Happy Hour, and would blame the kid he's gonna kill, for being on the sidewalk when he runs him down.

"So when you walked in, Dean, I had you all figured. And, I was wrong."

"Yeah, I get that a lot," Dean smirked. This dude was ok. Poor guy had to put up with some real douche-bags.

"Look, Dean, if you want to run through this evening's presentation, I will …"

"No way, dude. Preaching to the choir here, Mal. Been in a crash, m'self. I was already injured, then a truck hit us, I die – um – nearly died. No alcohol involved but not an experience I'm eager to re-live."

"Wow, all too real to you then?" Mal summed up.

"Yeah, gory pics not gonna help. Been driving a long time. I drive for my job so I don't take chances. And never with alcohol."

"So, Special Agent, you drive for a living?" Mal raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah," Dean cursed his inebriation, "I am in law enforcement, but unofficial, you might say. Have to go where the, um, incidents happen. There's a lot of driving involved."

"Sorry, Dean," Mal smiled, "I'm just curious."

"Nah, you're alright. And I'd love to tell you more. Never really able to talk about what I do, except with my brother. But then it's a family business so…"

"And you talk with Cas, your friend?"

"Yeah, like those conversations ever make any sense!" Dean snorted. "No, I generally don't talk about my work with anyone outside of the business. Easier like that."

"Not even with the women you meet?"

"What?"

"You go to a bar, get talking to an attractive woman, tell her how your day's been. Not like you'll see her again. Um, I'm guessing. Sorry, that sounded rude. I didn't mean it to." Mal looked uncomfortable.

"No, you're ok. I never do see them again. The job has me moving on. But I never talk about what I do. They don't need to hear crap like that. And frankly, mostly I just wanna forget it myself. I'm not looking for a soul-mate, just a hook up."

"Sounds lonely."

"Nature of the work." Dean shrugged as if he didn't care, but he suddenly felt quite sorry for himself.

"You could tell me." Malcolm was looking earnestly at Dean and he wasn't sure how he felt about that.

"Why would I?" was all Dean could think to say.

"Because everyone deserves to vent about their work sometimes. You just listened to me moan about the monsters in suits I get in here. You could tell me about your monsters."

"Monsters, right," Dean narrowed his eyes.

"You can tell me anything, Dean. You and I will never see each other again after tonight, sadly, I think. And anything you tell me stays with me. Even if we step outside this room, I'll keep your confidence."

Dean's eyes narrowed further.

"I'm not hitting on you, Dean, and I'm not an industrial spy trying to drag your business secrets out of you. But I'm bored and, yeah, I'm lonely, I'll admit it – which is why I'm reluctant to shut up shop tonight. If I let you go, I have a very empty evening stretching out in front of me and, frankly, that's a little scary."

"Not my definition of 'scary', but I get where you're coming from, dude," Dean said quietly with a sad shake of his head.

"Look, can I push my luck here?"

"You can push. I might push back," Dean mumbled, not liking where this was going. Or maybe liking it.

"How about I buy you a drink? Fuck the caretaker, I'll use my emergency keys to lock up and I'll leave him a note. Then you and I go find a bar. I'll even disappear if you hook up, no argument, no drama. Sound ok to you?"

"You don't know me," Dean said suspiciously.

"True. And you don't know me. So that just gives us more stuff to talk about. … No, ok, I'm sorry. Bad idea. I've just managed to totally creep you out. Sorry. But you can go; I'll sign your mandate release now. Sorry, Dean."

"Not sure what you're apologisin' for, dude. If you sign my slip, I'll go back to my evening in a bar. Seems to me, if you close up here, you'll be heading to a bar too. Might as well head to the same one. Guess I owe you a drink for not making me sit here watching real-life horror," Dean said amiably, flashing a quick smile.

"You ok with that?" Mal asked, and seemed to hold his breath while he waited for Dean's reply."

"I guess. Makes sense. But I pull, you take off?"

"Yeah, absolutely. I promise."

"But I need to get Babe back. I thought by the time this finished I'd be sober enough to drive."

"Look, I know you're very, um, protective of your, um, Chevy Impala, you said?"

"Yeah," Dean said cautiously.

"How about we go collect her from the Pound now and I drive her back to your hotel. I promise I can actually drive, and I'll be super-careful, but if you'd rather I didn't, maybe you can call your brother or …"

"Knock yourself out, Mal. Yeah, I'll let you drive. But only back to the motel and only 'cause I'm pretty sure Sam will never let me live it down if he hears I let Cas drive."

Dean rolled his eyes and Mal laughed.

"C'mon, let's go get the love of your life!" Mal teased.


	3. Chapter 3

**Mandated Chapter 3**

AN: One more chapter after this. Hope you're enjoying it. :)

Later, when Babe was safely tucked away in the motel parking lot, and Dean and Mal were holed up in a bar two blocks down, Dean reflected on how differently his night was turning out.

He'd started out with high hopes for his usual, forgettable beer, forgettable chat, forgettable fuck, and pay-back hangover. Then Cas had shown up, and although it meant his plans for the evening were effectively trashed the moment the clueless angel wandered nervously into the bar, he was quite pleased to have some company. Of course, Cas practically ruled out any chance of Dean getting any girl interested in him but…

And that was always weird. Whenever he and Cas went for a drink, which wasn't often, but when it did happen, girls just weren't interested. He didn't get the same cold shoulder if he sat with Sam, just when he was with Cas. Not for the first time, Dean wondered if girls could pick up an angel vibe or something off of Cas.

Although, as Dean thought more about things, Mal seemed to be having the same effect. He wouldn't be getting laid tonight, dammit.

Still, Mal was a nice enough guy, and he'd driven the Impala with something bordering on reverence. Plus, although Mal didn't know much about cars himself, he seemed to really appreciate Babe, and asked sensible questions about the difficulty of sourcing the right spare parts and how best to remove rust from chrome.

Mal might not be into cars himself, but he seemed genuinely interested in Babe, and Dean had enjoyed talking about classic cars with him. And when Mal had explained about his day job as a firefighter, Dean was fascinated. It turned out that firefighting was how Mal had gotten into giving road safety lectures and he was also a trained bereavement counsellor. The firefighting paid most of the bills but Mal couldn't make ends meet without the counselling and the City's Drunk-Driver Mandate sessions.

The beers, and the odd whiskey, had turned the two men from strangers to best buddies in only a few hours.

"So, you gonna give your friend, Cas, a call, tell him you forgive him for putting your wheels in harm's way?" Mal asked as he started on another beer.

"Nah, 'm not letting Cas off that easy. Besides, he doesn't have a cell phone."

"No phone? Wise man," Mal observed.

"Yeah, if that's code for dumbass! He can't handle easy stuff like phones and cars and shit like that. But he can pull you out of Hell, pick a fight with Heaven and help stop the Apocalypse without breaking a sweat. But then, he's an angel, so …"

"So, you think he's an angel?" Mal asked, looking a little confused.

Dean thought quickly – quickly-ish. "He's a pain in the butt is what he is."

"But you like him?"

"Yeah … hey, not in the way you mean!"

"No?"

"No! Me and Cas, well, we've been through a lot together."

"It's ok, Dean," Mal said quietly, staring into his glass.

"Wha's ok?" Dean concentrated so he could bring his new bff's face into focus.

"It's ok to like Cas."

Dean's brow furrowed. "Yeah, I know. So what, dude?"

"I mean, it's ok to like him as more than just a friend," Mal's voice was directed at his drink, but he shot a glance up at Dean briefly.

"'S'not like that," Dean mumbled.

"I think it is, Dean. Look, this is just between you an' me. We're never gonna see each other again so we can be honest. No bullshit. Yeah?"

"Yeah," Dean shrugged, not liking the way this conversation was going but not having sufficient sober brain cells left to come up with a plausible exit strategy.

"You gotta admit it to yourself, man. You love this guy." Mal did that earnest look of his, right into Dean's eyes, lasering into his head.

"Yeah, he's my best friend," Dean wrenched his eyes away to stare at his beer as if expecting it to break into a song and dance routine.

"Avoidance, that's what this is about!"

Dean's brain lurched sideways. Had they moved on from the topic of angels? He damned well hoped so. It certainly seemed as if Mal had moved on to something else but quite what Dean wasn't really sure so he thought he better ask.

"Mal, what are you talking about?"

"You and Cas. You're avoiding your feelings for him," Mal was still doing that laser thing with his eyes.

"Not sure I followed you round that bend in the road there, Mal. Me and Cas are besties. But I told you that. I did tell you that, didn't I?"

"You did, several times. But I think there's more to your relais sh relaish … friendship than jusht, um, friendship."

"I think there's a guy in the X-Men can do that thing you do, you know, with your eyes," Dean confided confidentially. "Well, in the comics, anyway."

"See!" Mal crowed triumphantly, as he stabbed his finger on the table to emphasise his point. "That's essactly what I mean. Avoidance!"

"I hear you say the word," Dean said, trying in vain to find a sober part of his brain to process the incoming words, and possibly to filter the outgoing ones too, "but I got bupkis. Wanna explain?"

Mal nodded like some plastic dog on the parcel shelf of a 4x4. "I will spell it out, Dean, my friend. You are in love with Cas. He is your angel. You said that."

"Yeah, but like, he is. An angel. Real one. Wings, heavenly powers, trenchcoat – the whole nine yards."

"Okay," Mal considered this for a moment, just long enough to down the whiskey chaser that had been beckoning him. "But you still love him. All night, all you keep saying is, 'Cas this' and 'Cas that'. You're head over heels, man."

"Nah, you're talking shit, dude," Dean was going for some more avoidance by focusing on his empty shot glass with a mixture of surprise and sadness.

"Yeah, right!" Mal snorted. "Wish I had a dollar for every time you mentioned his blue eyes, or the way his hair needs fingers run through it to make it not stick out like it does. Classic, man. You got it bad."

Dean blinked. He knew he ought to be rebutting this, but he wasn't sure how. Cas _did_ have beautiful blue eyes, and his hair was …

"Oh fuck!" Dean looked across at his new-found friend in horror. "Witches! Gotta be. Or I could be possessed. No, it's a spell. Yep, I go with a spell. Gotta be a hex bag somewhere. Help me look."

Dean dove off his chair and started searching under the table for a hex bag.

"Jeez, man, what the fuck?" Mal slid off his chair to join Dean under the table.

"No hex bag," Dean sounded distraught.

"Pardon me? For fuck's sake, get up. People are looking, man." Mal grabbed Dean by the arm and yanked him backwards. Then he stood up and hauled Dean back onto his seat. "What the hell's wrong with you?"

"If it's not a spell, what is it?" Dean whimpered.

"I'm going out on a limb here; I'm guessing this has come as a shock to you?" Mal said, feeling a little less drunk thanks to the sudden rush of adrenalin.

"What?" Dean asked, wondering if they were still talking about spells. He was really struggling to keep up with this conversation and it was making him anxious for some reason.

"You didn't know how you felt? About Cas I mean?"

"He's like a brother to me!" Dean said vehemently.

"I'm not touching that remark with a ten foot pole!" Mal grouched wisely. "But Dean, you must know by now that you love him. And by 'love' I mean as in lover, soul-mate, significant other, cupid's arrow to the heart …"

"Dude, please," Dean stopped him, his hands held up, palms vertical as if warding off an attack, "you do know Cas is a guy? A guy angel?"

"Yeah. And?"

"You think me and Cas, you know, like, um, in the Biblical sense?"

"Yeah. And?"

"I'm, um, I'm not ... We, um, we've never, um… No!"

"Yeah, okay. And?"

"Will you stop saying that, dude? My point is that me and Cas, well, I can't speak for Cas 'cause I dunno if angels even… Well, see _I _don't. Once or twice, maybe. I mean, I'm as curious as the next guy. But, no, I'm not, you know…"

"Gay?" Mal was laser-eyeing again.

"Yeah. No, I mean, I'm not."

"And Cas?"

"Fuck knows! He's not very worldly-wise so dunno if he ever … you know. Or even has a preference."

"You should ask him."

"Wha …! Are you mad? He pro'lly doesn't even know hisself."

"You gotta tell him how you feel though, Dean."

"No! Anyway, who said I felt like that?"

"You did," Mal confirmed.

"I did?" Dean looked surprised.

"As good as. You love him and, from what you told me, I'd say he feels the same. You gotta tell Cas."

"Tell me what?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Mandated**

Cas' sudden appearance at Dean's elbow, startled Mal at first, but it downright spooked Dean, who nearly fell off his chair.

"C-Cas?" Dean exclaimed.

"I was worried. That you might get into trouble because I could not control your vehicle," Cas stated, his brow wrinkled in concern.

"You must be Cas," Mal held out his hand, smiling warmly.

"Um, Mal, Cas; Cas, this is Mal," Dean mumbled, his face red, "and you need to take his hand."

Cas regarded Mal's outstretched hand with curiosity just a beat too long.

"No worries," Mal said amiably as he withdrew his hand. "Can I get you a beer, Cas?"

"Cas isn't staying, are you?" Dean asked pointedly.

"If you are staying here, then I will stay here," Cas said simply.

Dean groaned.

"I was concerned that I might have caused you some problems. That policeman didn't put you in jail?"

"No, said I was local so he gave me a Mandate to go see Mal here."

"Oh, you are on a man date. With this man." Cas stated without a hint of emotion.

"Wha …? No. No!"

"Look, Dean, Cas, why don't I call it a night? Let you guys catch up?" Mal started to rise from his chair.

"No, it's ok Mal," Dean put his hand on the other man's arm to stop him. A bolt of lightning shot up from Mal's arm and Dean flinched. Yeah, this guy was something out of the X-Men, or the Fantastic Four, or Creepy Worlds maybe. Dean struggled to focus.

"Cas was just leaving, weren't you Cas?" Dean tried, stressing the last three words.

"No, I have just arrived." Cas smiled.

And Dean's breath hitched. He must be very, very drunk, he thought to himself, because that smile.… He didn't finish his thought – just in case it led somewhere he wasn't expecting. Or, maybe, somewhere he was expecting. Oh fuck!

Mal leant across to bring his lips close to Dean's ear. "Much as I'd love a threesome with you and Cas, it wouldn't be right – not for your first time together. Tell him, Dean, he deserves to know. You deserve to know how good it can be. Take care and stay safe."

Mal planted a small kiss, just a peck, on Dean's cheek and stood up. Dean froze.

"Here Cas, take my seat. I have to go. Nice to have met you." Mal fumbled in his jacket pocket for a moment before retrieving a business card. "Here, Dean. In case you're ever passing through again. Even if it's just to chat about classic cars. Seriously."

When Dean made no move to take the card, Mal slipped it into Dean's top pocket. "I would love to see you again, Dean," he murmured, "and Cas."

Dean nodded mutely, looking on the wigged out side of seriously freaked.

"Ok, I'm off," Mal moved away from the table but as he passed Cas he whispered something in the angel's ear, before disappearing into crowd.

Cas continued to stand stock still, like a powered-down animatronic.

"Si'down, Cas," Dean barked.

Cas just stood there, not taking his eyes from Dean's face.

"Quit staring," Dean grumbled, "and sit down will ya?"

"I was wondering how your man date went. He seemed nice." Cas dropped down into the seat Mal had vacated.

"Not a man date, Cas! No such thing," Dean said firmly.

"But you do, um, date, um, men?"

"Wha…? No! Cas, where is this coming from?" Dean ran his hand through his hair.

Cas said nothing, which was unusual since if he was in the room with you and you asked him something he always answered, even if the answer made absolutely no damn sense.

Dean lifted his head, turning slightly to look Cas in the eye. "What's going on here, Cas?" Even as the words sprung from his mouth Dean was hoping Cas wouldn't answer again, or maybe hoping he would, or maybe … ah, fuck it!

Dean bought his lips to press against Cas', his hand snaking behind the other's head to pull him closer.

And god help him, if Cas didn't kiss him right back!

"Cas?" Dean breathed as he broke contact and drew back a little to question those beautiful blue eyes.

"Dean?" A slight smile was playing on the angel's lips.

"Dammit! You and I need to talk."

"Yes?"

"Not here. C'mon."

Dean stood up and grabbed Cas' arm, ignoring the electric sparks that shot into his fingers, as he dragged him up and guided him to the exit.

The cold night air hit Dean like a Kendo bokuto; he nearly doubled up as the first inhalations hit his lungs. But suddenly Cas was at his side; as in, he was _pressed_ at his side, arm round Dean's waist supporting him.

"Too much to drink," Dean mumbled to try cover his embarrassment. He wasn't quite sure why he felt embarrassed; perhaps it was because of his inexplicable inability to hold his drink. Or the fact that he felt uncomfortable, or was that 'inappropriately comfortable', that Cas was cuddled up to him?

"Motel's up there, on the left," Dean managed as he pointed down the street.

Suddenly they were both standing in Dean's motel room, Cas still pinned to Dean's side.

"Damn it, Cas, warn me if you're gonna go all 'transporter' on me," Dean whined, but he didn't extricate himself from Cas' arms.

"Sorry, Dean, but I determined that we needed to be somewhere private."

Cas helped Dean over to one of the beds and got him to sit down.

"What's the time? Sam'll be back soon." Dean wasn't quite sure why this was of interest, no, make that, of concern, to him.

"Sam will not be back until morning, Dean. About mid-morning and he will bring us coffee and those sticky pastry confections you like."

"Wait, how'd you know that?"

Cas sat himself down on the bed next to Dean leaving a small gap between them. Dean felt a little disconcerted, lost even, that Cas was no longer in physical contact with him. Well, that feeling was weird with a dusting of confusion on top!

"I have arranged for Sam to be away. Until morning." Cas smiled and Dean thought, 'smug bastard' or it might have been, 'smug beautiful bastard'.

"How? Why?"

"The 'how', Dean, is easy to explain. I sent Sam a, um, text that he thinks you sent. It told him not to come back until tomorrow and to bring coffee and pastries with him."

"Why would you do that Cas?" Dean murmured, not really wanting to know the reason. Or perhaps needing to know the reason.

"The 'why' is the difficult part to explain because I don't really understand that myself," Cas told him, his brow furrowing slightly.

"Any clues there, buddy?" Dean asked turning so that he could look at his friend. But before Cas could reply, Dean continued, "Did you send Sam away so we could do this again?"

Dean scooted alongside the angel, grabbing his arms and pinning them to his side as he pressed his lips to Cas'. He didn't attempt anything more, not yet, but he felt Cas push forward eagerly.

Breaking the kiss, Dean whispered, "Do you want this, Cas? Say you want this."

"Yes, Dean, I do. I had planned to intercept Sam, even before your friend said anything."

"What? Who? Oh, Mal," Dean realised with a start, "Wha'd he say to you?"

"He said you were a good man and I should kiss you if I got the chance." Cas smiled and his eyes seemed to sparkle.

At least, Dean thought they sparkled, but that was probably just him. And, oh crap, he knew what that meant right enough.

"Cas, you need to know something, here, dude," Dean muttered, not sure how to explain gay relationships, societal pressure, the whole, 'you're unfamiliar with all this, Cas – you might prefer girls' issue, and then there was explaining the mechanics to a novice – at novice at human experience in general not just …

"You love me," Cas said succinctly.

"Well, yeah, but…" Dean could feel his neck glow red, even through the rosy blush of the alcohol.

"And I love you," Cas was beaming now, and fuck if his eyes weren't damn well shining as well. "However, I need to tell you that in future the only person you will man date is me. Do I have your assurance on this, Dean? It is very important to me."

"Mandate? Oh crap, dude, you didn't really think …?"

"Please, do not man date anyone but me," Cas whimpered. God Almighty, he fucking whimpered!

"No, Cas, no more mandates for me, ever. Only you. Only ever you," Dean breathed just before his lips found Cas' lips, and then tongues found tongues.

* * *

Sam didn't need his hunter's tracking abilities or his inherent investigative skills the next morning, as he set down the cardboard tray and the small paper sack from the coffee shop on their motel room table. One glance around the room, and another glance at the two other occupants, told him everything. One bed unslept in. One trenchcoat balled up on the floor, forgotten it seemed. Two matching hickeys; one on Dean's neck, one on Cas'.

Then there was the not inconsiderable clue, that Dean hadn't bitched once to Cas about personal space, despite the fact that Cas had been closer to Dean than his shadow from the moment Sam stepped into the room.

And when you added the text message Sam had received the night before, it all made perfect sense. Sam smiled at both the awkward happiness he saw in his brother and as he remembered the text that Dean had purportedly sent last night:

_Please do not come back to the motel until 11am tomorrow. _

_Then bring 3 coffees and Dean's favourite pastries for breakfast. _

_I have a man date tonight. _

_Dean._

~ FIN ~

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this. Thank you for reading.


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